


And honey, honey the call is for war

by sas



Series: Femslash February Prompts [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2kFOREVER, F/F, Femslash February, Flirting, Karaoke, Lydia is a Patti Smith fan, Misplaced Aggression, Pre-Femslash, Tumblr Fic, Tumblr Prompt, i guess, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sas/pseuds/sas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mstoker asked: Cordia "That asshole stole my song at karaoke night" au</p><p> </p><p>One of my Femslash February prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	And honey, honey the call is for war

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Patti Smith's (and later, The Distillers') Ask the Angels

Cora should be used to Derek’s death glare by now. She should be, but still she wilts slightly when he levels her with it, standing at the bar of a dimly lit club.

“Oh, come on D’. You need this! You need to lighten up a little.”

She feels, rather than sees, Erica nodding in agreement.

“I do not. I’m fine.”

“Sure, buddy.” Boyd grips Derek’s hunched shoulders and begins to lead him toward one of the low tables to the side of the stage.

When Erica slings herself down on to a stool across from him, she continues, “You and Paige broke up months ago now. It’s time to stop punishing yourself and have fun. Besides,” she smirks around her beer bottle, “you have yet to see how badass me and your baby sister are at karaoke.”

Cora nods her agreement and Derek scoffs. He throws his eyes and his hands up before breathing out a “fine!” and their table erupts in cheers.

They spend the first hour laughing, drinking beer and critiquing the singers. A tall, gangly boy with far too much gel in his hair sings three songs, horribly, but his table of friends cheer uproariously anyway. Erica catcalls as he dances ridiculously to Bon Jovi and Cora notes that Derek’s eyes haven’t left the pale face since he took the stage.

“D’, want to come to the bar with me?” she asks, trying to keep her voice innocent. Hair Gel is at the bar with a redhead, whose back is to Cora. Derek nods, seemingly unaware, and collects the empty bottles from the table.

When they reach the bar, Cora smiles softly at Hair Gel and shouts, “Well done up there! He did great, didn’t he, Derek?”

Derek makes a strangled noise beside her and nods quickly.

“Thanks,” Hair Gel smiles, then ducks his head to speak to his friend again. Cora can feel Derek watching him.

“Cora, my love. What can I get you?” the barman asks.

“Five of those new IPAs, please.”

“Sure thing. Are you going to be gracing us with your usual tonight?”

“You know it.”

“You have a usual?” Derek half sputters-half laughs.

“Hell yeah she does. A Patti Smith number that she does every week.” The barman smiles genuinely at them as he places the bottles on the bar and takes Cora’s offered bills.

Derek makes a thoughtful noise before taking three of the bottles in hand and returning to the table. Cora catches Hair Gel’s eyes follow him for a second and smiles to herself. Men are so predictable.

They return to the table only to realise Erica isn’t there.

“Gone to put in your requests,” Boyd informs them.

When she returns, she is laughing. “Bambi and most of his friends have put in requests before us, I hope we actually get a minute to sing.”

“I’m sure we will,” Cora shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. The latest singer has just finished and has returned to their table, fierce blush visible even under the dim lighting.

“Alright, alright, alright ladies and gentlemen. Next up we have the wonderful Lydia Martin, give it up for Lydia!” the dj calls over the din. Polite applause breaks out around the room, which is all but drowned out by the riotous noise from Hair Gel’s table. Cora looks around Erica to see that the redhead who had been with Hair Gel at the bar is taking the stage. She is well-dressed, properly manicured, pretty and prim and slightly at odds with the interior of the club as a whole, but the smile on her face would suggest she feels utterly comfortable. Cora watches with interest, because the girl is attractive and oddly charming. That interest quickly turns to anger when she hears familiar opening chords.

Cora, by way of protest, simply lets out an indignant strangled noise. Erica looks at her with wide eyes, her beer bottle frozen on its path to her mouth. A loud laugh rips from Isaac.

“Isn’t that…” Derek starts.

“Patti Smith. Ask the Angels.” Boyd nods.

“That’s…”

“Cora’s song.” Erica nods, smiling now.

Derek turns away, taking a small sip of his beer. Cora can feel the heat rising on her face. That was her song. She sang it every week. Everyone knew that. She had even said so, only…

“She heard Mitch tell Derek this was my song at the bar! She was standing right beside me!”

The whole table is giggling now, which only makes Cora’s anger worse.

“This isn’t funny! That means she did this on purpose!”

“Aw, honey.” Erica soothes, “it’s just a song.”

“That’s not the point!” Cora huffs.

What’s worse, Cora thinks, is that she’s actually really good. It’s obvious she knows the song, loves the song. Her friends whistle at her, shout their encouragement, and it seems contagious; throughout the room, tables are wolf-whistling and cheering as she moves around the stage, singing wildly but well. Even Isaac gives a little ‘whoop’ when she finishes. In response to Cora’s raised eyebrow, he only shrugs. Cora goes to get another beer.

Two hours and one withdrawn request later, Cora is more than a little tipsy. She may have taken the whole ‘having-your-song-stolen-by-a-prom-queen’ thing too seriously, and she may have taken it out on several bottles of beer (and one probably-ill-advised shot of sambuca). She may have forgotten that the night was about cheering her heartbroken brother up and she may be feeling a tiny bit resentful that said brother is now making googoo eyes at Hair Gel because, Cora protests, “he is with the enemy!”

While Isaac and Boyd are talking about a new project they’re working on, Cora excuses herself to steal out the back door, to get some air. Outside, she leans against the wall and pulls out her cigarettes. She is only halfway finished it when the door swings open again and in a flurry of hair and tweed and giggles, she’s there. The door closes and envelops them in silence. Cora suddenly feels completely tongue-tied as she watches the redhead lean against the wall beside her, pull out a box of menthol cigarettes and light one. All resolve she had crumbles when Lydia—that was her name, right?—offers her a small smile.

“Are you not freezing?” Lydia quirks an eyebrow in her direction.

“What? I mean—” Cora looks down at herself, belatedly realising she had forgotten her coat. “Uh, no, I’m fine.”

Lydia nods slowly. A moment of silence passes before Lydia speaks again.

“You’re with that guy that Stiles has been making heart-eyes at all night, right?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s my brother, Derek.”

“And you are?”

“You stole my song!” Cora had no power to stop the words falling out of her mouth. This girl was just acting so casual, when clearly Cora was pissed.

“Um, okay. Little unorthodox. I’m Lydia.”

“That’s not—” Cora started.

“Yeah, no, I know. I was joking.” Lydia pushes herself off of the wall and faces Cora. Cora can feel her face begin to turn pink under the gaze.

“I do that song every week. That’s my song.” Cora hopes she doesn’t sound as pathetic to Lydia as she does to herself. “You heard me, at the bar…” All the fire that had been in her argument earlier had now turned to pathetic wisps of smoke.

“What?”

“At the bar. Mitch, the barman, told my brother that it was my song.”

In response, a loud laugh bursts out of Lydia.

“It’s not funny.” Cora feels petulant, even crossing her arms across her chest.

“No, no,” Lydia waves away Cora’s protest, trying to get her laughter under control. “Stiles.”

“Stiles?”

“My friend Stiles. He suggested I do that song.”

“What?”

“I can promise you, I didn’t hear you at the bar. When we got back to the table, Stiles suggested I sing ‘Ask the Angels’. I just assumed it was because I love Patti Smith and it’s kind of a novelty to find a song like that at karaoke.”

“Oh.” Cora feels the tension leave her shoulders a little. “Still. That was kind of shitty of him. There are, you know, rules. Etiquette.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Lydia lays her hand across her heart. “He’s just a big doof, really. He probably thought it would be a good reason for me to talk to you.”

“Why would you need a reason to talk to me?”

Cora is aware that, during this conversation, Lydia has inched her way closer. She was now close enough that Cora could smell her perfume—something floral but subtle.

“Because, I’m generally terrible at talking to girls I think are pretty.”

“Wha—Wait, me?” Cora points at herself dumbly.

Lydia only smirks in response.

“I, uh, thanks?” She drops her head in an attempt to hide the raging blush on her cheeks. “Sorry. For, you know, getting angry at you.” Cora’s voice is small and she hates it.

“No problem,” Lydia beams. “How about we start over?”

“Sure,” Cora smiles, finally lifting her head.

“I’m Lydia. I am a fan of Patti Smith, flavoured rum, and cheap horror B-movies. I think you’re very attractive.” Her hand is held out between them, small and delicate, waiting for Cora to take it.

“I’m Cora. Patti Smith is my hero, I’m a big fan of craft beer, and I come to this dive bar to do karaoke every Friday night.” Cora takes her hand and feels Lydia squeeze gently. “And I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Nice to meet you, Cora.”

“You too.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Cora drops her head again, and nods.

**Author's Note:**

> Come send my prompts on  
> tepidwaterdialogues.tumblr.com


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